


Not As Bad As Tentacles

by hedgehugs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: FTM, Fingering, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot, Trans Stiles, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgehugs/pseuds/hedgehugs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why don’t you just take it off you weirdo?” Scott playfully shoves water toward Stiles and runs his fingers through his wet dark hair. “It’s just us, I mean.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not As Bad As Tentacles

He is small and a bundle of nervous tension, and for as long as he can remember he has hated his name. He hates the way it sounds in his mouth and the weight of it on his tongue. It makes him feel hollow, like a bird is sitting in his chest and pecking at his ribs. He starts going by ‘Stiles’ in sixth grade, citing the fact that ‘nobody could pronounce his birth name anyway’ as the reason.

The summer of seventh grade, when he gets his first period, he wants to claw his skin off and wad it in tissue, throw it away like a tampon, but he can’t. Instead he resents his biology and begs to get on birth control. His father humors him even though he’s not sure why his thirteen year-old daughter needs it.

In the fall of eighth grade he falls in love with the internet and sees a word and he feels it sit heavy in his guts. He feels it deep in his insides, in the same place where the blood lives that spills out between his legs. The word is  _transgender_ and he holds the word in his lungs like a baby bird. He is not a disease and he is not alone. He cries a little out of relief, then out of anxiety.

Through spring break he stays inside, avoids the California heat like the plague. Plans, and researches, and tries to understand himself more. He reads about binding and packing and hormone therapy. Reads about top surgery and bottom surgery. When he sees the word phalloplasty his heart goes funny and he sits in front of a mirror without underwear on and looks at himself for about half an hour. He clicks away from the website,  _not for me_ , he decides _._

Stiles comes out to his father on the last day of eighth grade. He is fourteen and crooked kneed, he eats instant ramen and doesn’t shave his armpits. His father cocks his head at him and asks if he wants a haircut.

\- - - - -

Scott Mccall moves next door to the Stilinskis during that summer, he is bright-eyed and has a kind face that makes you want to cradle it. Stiles’ father makes an attempt at a ‘Welcome to the Neighborhood’ barbecue but burns everything. Instead, they order take out and Stiles watches Scott while he eats his chow mein. Scott is handsome and lanky, like a coyote and when they’re done with their food Stiles invites him to the park behind their neighborhood. They hunt bugs and play video games and eat crap food for the rest of the summer.

Melissa McCall takes her son and Stiles’ instant friendship in stride. The first time Stiles sleeps over he asks her where the tampons are and then begs her not to tell Scott when he says he’s on his period. She assures him she won’t and starts making three helpings for dinner and leaving the bathroom door open. Sometimes during sleepovers they talk about girls and their stomachs and Stiles looks uncomfortable. Mostly, they talk about boys and their jawlines. They kiss each other to see what all the fuss is about and they laugh when it’s over.

So it’s not strange or foreign when he and Scott go swimming in the dirty river that spills through the woods. They’ve swam in the muddy water more times than Stiles can count on his hands and it’s warm and welcoming. He wears a blue t-shirt over his bound chest – a sports bra and ace bandages, he knows he shouldn’t and they’ll hurt his ribs but he wants to be  _flat_ and he can’t ask his dad for that kind of money – and baggy shorts. Scott is shirtless and wearing boxers and he laughs when Stiles flails around in the water with his shirt stuck to his body.

“Why don’t you just take it off you weirdo?” Scott playfully shoves water toward Stiles and runs his fingers through his wet dark hair. “It’s just us, I mean.”

Stiles flinches and sits down, folding his legs underneath himself so he’s cross-legged with the water just under his nose. He shakes his head and Scott rolls his eyes, and then gestures to his chest. “I’ve seen it before dude, it’s not like you have tentacles, right?” He laughs at his own joke and lies down on his back, floating lazily with his arms spread.

Stiles looks down and submerges his entire head underwater before shakily standing up. His hands play with the hemline of his soaked shirt and he fidgets, clearly uncomfortable. “What if it might as well be tentacles?” He bites his lip and looks like he’s going to cry and Scott is immediately on his feet, big hands crowding in on Stiles’ soft jaw.

“Stiles, you’re my best friend, I’m sure it’s nothing.” Scott fumbles his hands away from Stiles’ face and starts playing with the strings on his swim trunks. “Do you have some weird scar or something?” Stiles’ face falls and he actually does start crying, fat crocodile tears running down his freckled face.

“I have tits.” Scott isn’t sure he heard right and makes a face, finger stopping their motion.

“What?”

“I have tits, I have a fucking  _vagina_. I’m transgender.” Stiles’ words are heavy and contorted and he can’t fucking breathe and he thinks  _this is what Scott feels like, this is like his asthma attacks._ Scott’s face crumples and he smiles. Kind and wide and not mocking or hurtful. He kisses Stiles on the forehead.

“Not nearly as bad as tentacles, you loser.”

He dunks Stiles underwater a minute later for shoving nasty ass river water into his face.

\- - - - -

Time goes by more quickly and drags less when Stiles is with Scott. On the night of his fifteenth birthday Stiles and Scott are in Stiles’ bedroom and Stiles is shirtless and Scott has a measuring tape in his hands. When Scott first arrived at the Stilinski’s house he told Stiles that he had a surprise for him but that he would have to get sort-of naked. Stiles side-eyed him a hell of a lot and led him up to his bedroom. Now they’re in his messy room with Stiles’ sports bra on the floor and he is nervously crossing his arms over his breasts while Scott just watches him in a kind of amused sort of way. Scott gestures with the measuring tape and quirks a smile at Stiles.

“I have to get your measurements for your surprise, bud.” Stiles frowns and uncrosses his arms and lets Scott close to him. Scott has Stiles hold an end of the measuring tape at the side of his breast while he wraps it around the fullest part of of Stiles’ chest until the ends meet. Stiles is all goosebumps and shivers and feels not-too-horrible about Scott seeing him like this. Just. Feels not good about there being something to see. Scott takes his measurements and grins small and easy at him, pressing the pad of this thumb against Stiles’ cheek reassuringly. Stiles pulls his shirt back on and feels naked and loose, his sports bra still on the floor, and he unwilling to undress again to put it on.

“Get out your laptop.”

The boys spend the rest of Stiles’ birthday looking at nice quality binders and Stiles feels funny in his bones when he picks one out. Scott ruffles his hair and tells him happy birthday, he couldn’t wear ace bandages and sports bras forever. It’s then that Stiles realizes he might be a little bit in love with his best friend.

-

They’re lying in bed and they’re seventeen and they still have sleepovers. _They’re having a sleepover_. Scott is talking about boys again - he does this so much, he is in love with the entire gender – and while Stiles appreciates boys too he can’t help but flinch any time Scott connects the concepts of being male and having a penis. He blinks a lot during these talks and feels empty a lot, too. Stiles rolls onto his side while Scott talks about blowjobs.

Stiles slips his hands under his shirt – Scott is all excited-hands talking about boys and their dicks and he is not paying attention – and cups one of his breasts and hates himself instantly. Hates his stupid tits and his stupid curved hips and the hole between his legs. Hates himself, really. He bites back a sob and rolls onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow he brought from home. Scott immediately turns to him, concerned and hurt worrying his face and he touches the back of Stiles’ head tentatively.

“Are you okay?” his voice is shaken and cracks when he realizes what is wrong, “—Fuck. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He lies on his stomach and wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. He rubs his fingers over his friend’s bicep and blinks heavily. “I didn’t even. I’m sorry. Fuck.” Stiles just turns his head to look at Scott and gives a small nod, eyes a little puffy.

“I hate myself so fucking much.” He croaks, pulling at the neck of his shirt. “I hate my fucking body. I’d rather be dead.” Scott frowns and his face closes in on itself and he pulls Stiles to his chest, resting his chin on top of his head. He tells him  _you are a boy_  and  _I am so sorry_  and _you’re a good man, Stiles_. Stiles just curls in closer and entangles their legs and tries to hate himself less. They fall asleep like that, gangly boys and kind hands.

\- - - - -

When they wake up Stiles and Scott are spooning and Scott is hard, pressed into the curve of Stiles’ ass. Stiles knows this happens all the time and it’s completely natural but he still feels nervous and tight in his chest and little-bit turned on. Scott’s face is buried in Stiles’ neck and his breath tickles the baby-hairs there. His hand is on Stiles’ stomach and Stiles sort-of wishes it were lower. He shifts under the covers so he’s facing his friend and just looks at him for a moment.

Scott’s jaw is a tiny-bit crooked and his mouth looks soft and kind –  _is_ soft and kind, they kissed each other for fun when they were fourteen – and his eyes are closed and his lashes are dark. He seems to be smiling but Stiles thinks that’s just the natural way his mouth is turned. Always smiling, eternal sunshine, that sort of thing. Scott opens his eyes five minutes later, sleep-heavy and brown like the Ponderosa pine trees Stiles used to draw pictures of.

“G’morning,” his voice is messy and comes out of his chest, deep like it was hibernating. Stiles half-smiles at him and tries to ignore Scott’s hand on his waist and the turning in his lower stomach.

“Morning.” Stiles’ return is quiet and a little high for his liking but he ignores it and pushes it away, tries to focus on Scott’s quiet face and voice.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Scott starts and then Stile just cuts him off wordlessly, big eyes and a small smile, knowing and forgiving.

“It’s fine, I get it, I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah…” Scott trails off, all anxious mouth and white teeth, and thumbs over the dip in Stiles’ waist before nervously smiling, “Sorry about this, too.” His eyes drop down between them where he’s hard and tenting his boxers. “Morning wood.”

Stiles tries to smile and instead just sort of grimaces at Scott. “I don’t really mind. I’m not jealous of  _that_ anyway.” Scott’s eyes droop a little and his smile falters.

“What’s it like?”

“What?” Stiles is now totally anxious, nervous wiry frame scrambling to process the question. Did he not listen? What question was that?  _“What’s it like?”_ what’s _what_ like?

“Not havin—having a,” he is stumbling over his words and Stiles  _gets it_. Everything clicks and suddenly the turning in his lower stomach is now throbbing and insistent and he licks his lips.

“…what having a vagina is like?” Stiles’ voice is soft and slightly unhappy but not offended and Scott breathes out a shaky laugh.

“Yeah, that. I’m sorry, that’s—so rude. I’m sorry.” Stiles just looks at him and shrugs as well as he can while laying sideways – he really just scrunches up his shoulders – and tries to look as reassuring as possible.

“No, it’s not rude. I mean, I always asked you what  _that_  was like.” He motions to Scott’s dick which is beginning to feel less confident the more the boys talk, no longer tenting his boxers. Scott smiles easily, sunshine coming out from the clouds, and laughs easily this time, no forcing or uncomfortable-ness.

The boys are face to face on their sides in Scott’s bed, laughing about their genitalia at about eight in the morning.  Stiles is pretty sure he has never loved his best friend more than this moment, and with a sudden burst of courage he moves forward and nuzzles up against Scott, under his chin again, breathing in the familiar smell of fabric softener and teenage boy. Scott presses his lips against the top of Stiles’ head. It’s intimate, but not romantic. Loving, but not loaded.

Stiles hates to break the mutual silence but he wants to answer Scott’s question, wants validation and acceptance and love. “D’you wanna see?” it’s breathy and teenage-boy and he  _wants_ Scott to ask to see him like that. Wants Scott to feel curious, to not see him as foreign or alien.

Scott’s breath hitches in his chest, the steady rhythm interrupted by Stiles. “Do you want me to see?” he is mumbling against the crown of Stiles’ head and Stiles can swear he feels his best friend’s heart beat stutter and speed up again.

Stiles swallows nervously, licks his lips and dips his head a little to press his mouth to Scott’s jaw. “Yeah, I do.” The coil that has been building like spitfire in his stomach eases up a little but he feels the ache between his legs return and he is so so nervous and little-boy right now. Stiles sits up and presses his back against the wall behind the head of the bed, knees tucked to his chest. Scott sits up too, lean and solid he moves to in front of Stiles, equally nervous and pink-faced.

The air in the room is heavy and the light that filters through the window at the head of the bed cuts through the humidity and makes sunbeams on the walls. Stiles closes his eyes and scrubs his face with his hands before lifting his hips and tugging down his pajama pants, all shaking hands and trembling fingers. Scott reaches out to touch his leg reassuringly, dark strong hand on his skinny ankle. Stiles shucks this pants all the way and lifts his legs without looking at Scott. Scott pulls them the rest of the way off and tosses them to the side of the bed, not unkindly.

Both boys are aware that Stiles is  _very_ naked from the waist down and Scott clears his throat and looks away, feeling himself growing hard against his bed. Stiles blinks slowly an drops his knees even slower, letting them fall outward. “No – look, it’s – you wanted to see.” His words are quiet and caught behind his teeth and he is trying very hard not to cover himself.

Scott’s face is red and he guiltily looks back at his friend, eyes moving from his pink face to his soft belly to the place between his legs. Stiles’ mouth is a hard line and he looks to the side. He can feel Scott’s eyes on him, not hurtful or cruel, just scouring. Searching.  _Looking_ at him. Stiles hopes he can’t see the sticky drops of wetness on him or the way his fingers are trembling while they rest on top of his thighs.

Scott inches forward cautiously, casting his eyes up at Stiles in question, and Stiles meets his eyes, and nods, small and almost imperceptible. Stiles is trembling and quiet and tries to not make a noise when Scott’s hands start at his knees and trace the insides of his thighs. Stiles’ stomach jumps and does leaps and the burning ache that’s sitting low in his belly is stronger now. He startles when he feels Scott’s warm mouth against the inside of his thigh, asking and soft. Stiles watches him, and shifts his hips forward, spreading his legs a little and offering himself up to his friend. Scott looks up at him before pressing a quick kiss to his inner thigh, so  close to where he needs it.

“You’re so damn handsome.” Scott’s words are breathy and too-quick out of his mouth and Stiles fucking  _blushes,_ taking his thumb into his mouth and nervously worrying the nail. Scott kisses the entirety of Stiles’ left thigh before kissing the spot just above his pubic bone and glancing back up to his friend. “Can I..?” Stiles nods, once more, avoiding talking because if he tried he’s sure he’d sound ridiculous.

Scott moves forward aggressively – doesn’t lunge just,  _moves_ – and presses his mouth against Stiles. His mouth is warm and wet and Stiles is whimpering and trying to spread wider for him. Scott laps at him, slick tongue pressing inside, exploring and searching. He moves his head back to press another kiss to Stiles’ thigh, kind and soft.

Then there are fingers tracing and Stiles  _needs_ this has been thinking about this since waking up and it aches. Scott pushes his index finger into him and Stiles whimpers and clenches, pressing his hips needily against Scott’s hand. Scott’s on his knees and mouths at his neck, calling him a  _good boy_  before he pushes another finger into Stiles, curling both fingers up to hit a spot inside of him that makes him feel like his ribs are cracking. He’s practically incoherent and whining by the time Scott kisses him, firm and warm on his mouth.

Scott tastes like fruit, like mangoes and citrus things, mostly and it reminds Stiles of summer. His fingers are calloused and strong and are making Stiles stretch and he is so  _full_ and then Scott’s thumb is at his clit and he is coming undone, clenching and whimpering and saying Scott’s name and it’s all darkdarkdark because Stiles has his eyes closed tight as Scott keeps pumping his fingers and circling over Stiles’ clit.

The fingers are gone suddenly and Stiles whines unhappily but stills, and a moan pries itself out of his throat when Scott’s fingers are replaced by his mouth, licking and laving Stiles’ sloppy flesh. Stiles has his hands in Scott’s dark hair as he licks him clean, nose bumping affectionately against his thigh before Stiles pulls Scott up and kisses his shiny wet mouth.

Stiles pulls away first, laying down and dragging Scott down with him, sweaty and slick and sleep-sodden and he cups Scott’s face when they’re lying on their sides again, where they started. His voice is husky and he rubs the pad of his thumb over Scott’s cheek. Mustering the most serious face possible, Stiles deadpans:

“Does that answer your question?” Scott just grins and kisses him. Tells him to shut up and go to sleep. Stupid boy.


End file.
